


In Dreams

by VinHampton



Category: Original Work, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Decay, Dreams, Fear, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Old Age, Original Character(s), Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinHampton/pseuds/VinHampton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vin takes the first fall into psychosis</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams

Lying on her back. Soft pillow under her head. Warm duvet blanketing her. The rise and fall of Holmes’ chest right beside her. Vin closes her eyes, trying to match her breath with his. Long, deep on the inhale. Longer on the exhale, pushing all the air out of his lungs. The edges of the world begin to soften and for one sweet moment, sleep softly, warmly begins to wash over her. She begins to succumb, the dry sand of her shores thankful for the shallow waves lapping against them. 

Lapping. 

Waves. 

Silence. 

—skid—

She FALLS into her own body. FALLS into consciousness with a start, with a racing heart. She sits up, alarmed, helps herself to a couple of lungfuls of air. She lets the edges come into focus again, and she is alert, sharp. She looks to her right. He is still there, peaceful, a great slumbering presence. Pale and thin but strong and warm and /hers/. She sinks back down onto the bed, pulling the cloud-soft-cloud-white duvet up to her chin. She turns around, on her side, to face him, and pulls his arm around her waist. Safe now. He stirs for a moment, a half-word, half-sigh escaping the enclave of his lips [warm], then settles back into his breathing. 

[Long/Longer]

Closing her eyes, she focuses on his body’s movements and tries to sync up with him. Her chest begins to rise when his does, to fall when his falls. Conscious, then unconscious, until it is ideomotor. She is so tired that when sleep comes this time it is not soft, but tarry like a cancer, engulfing the edges, leaving trails of black in its wake. 

She sees her face. 

Who wouldn’t be fascinated by their own face? Not as in a mirror, but as in the third person. Looking at yourself, full view, the only thing you can never, ever really see without the aid of glass. And nothing can be touched through glass. Only seen. Only believed. 

So she is fascinated. She is looking into her own eyes. Feline, hazel, rimmed heavily in black. The beginnings of crows’ feet at the corners, fine, fine lines. Her nose, imperfect, slightly too wide for her face. Full lips, soft. The whitened scar below her bottom lip, which Holmes seems to love so much. The sharp cheekbones and the hollows beneath them on either side of her face. She sees herself as she is. Cannot look away. Who would look away? 

[Only believed]

She is unmoving. Neutral. She looks on. Notes the shade of her skin [white, pale, shadows under my eyes] and the tint of her lips without lipstick on. Like peaches. Or plums. Or wh… what is that word? Like… 

Pale. Shadows under her eyes. They get darker, the shadows. The hollows, they get darker. Her pupils, blacker, wider. Her skin becomes thinner. Then papery. Old. Gaunt. Her lips prune. Her cheekbones sharper. Gaunt. More. Like…

What is that word?

Her hair thins.   
Her eyes dim.   
Her lips prune.   
Her skin…

Like…

Paper. Like…

Her eyes…

Darkening. Her…

She realises she is watching herself decay. 

Her skin, papery. 

Thin.

And crumbling. 

And fragile and papery. 

And tearing. 

She is frozen in horror, unable to look away. Who would look away?

Tearing. 

Her eyes, her cheeks, the hollows… 

 

Maggots.   
Eating.

 

She screams but it’s silent. In bed, nothing but a muffled sigh.   
Eating.

 

Horror vacui.   
The fear of empty spaces.   
Being as we are hollow creatures we are  
ever  
eating  
filling  
fucking  
stuffing the yawning maw  
the gulf  
the gored  
filling.

[AndWhenWeHaveFilledAllTheEmptySpacesTheWormsWillComeAndUseUpTheSpacesBetween]

 

She is finally awake.   
But the edges are tarry.   
The world is a cancer.


End file.
